


The Harlem Sunsets At Your Back

by Damn_Son



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Adultery, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Mobtale (Undertale), Character Death, Drinking to Cope, Edited and partially rewritten!, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Female Reader, Gaster go eat a Snickers and stop being a Dick, Gaster is a Smooth Criminal, Gaster is a dick, Gaster is a real Secret Man alright, I might make a sequel actually, I'll clean it up when I have the time, Manipulative Behavior, Please don't hesitate to tell me in the comments if I made any mistakes, Reader realizes too late that Gaster is a Dick, Secret Santa Prompts, So Secret that Reader started realizing he was full of shit in like three chapters, Thank you Crabby for betaing this for me, There are probably a ton of typos and mistakes I'm sorry, Violence, Woops, Yandere, Yandere Gaster - Freeform, ambiguous ending, from bad to worse, things get better before they get worse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:07:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21876391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damn_Son/pseuds/Damn_Son
Summary: The consequences of a one night stand.If he can't have your heart, then at least he'll have your body.Edit 04/09/2020:Fixed some mistakes, fixed the verb tense, changed some details, added a few descriptions to make the scenes flow better.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Reader, W. D. Gaster/Reader
Comments: 48
Kudos: 129
Collections: Let's Create Secret Santa 2019





	1. Two's Company

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sh33tMeDead336](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sh33tMeDead336/gifts).



_His cool hands rove down your bare arms, making you shiver. Your steps stutter._

_Through the haze of the bar, you see his mouth curl into a smile, amused and predatory, as he twirls you around him._

_The air around you is heavy with the scent of smoke, sweat and alcohol._

_But at the moment, all you can smell is his cologne, wrapping around you like an intoxicating embrace._

_Feeling cheeky, you press closer to him and resume dancing, raising your legs in a way that makes your dress flare up provocatively._

_You notice the exact moment his eyelights refocus on your thighs._

_You’re not blind, and you’re not stupid; you see the way everyone moves out of his way when he walks, you know that the only way he can afford such a crisp and expensive suit is because he’s a very and rich and powerful man._

_He looks like the kind of man that could ruin you, the kind of man that could eat you up and own you completely, body and soul._

_And nowadays, monsters are well-known for being very no-nonsense and having little patience for a human’s antics._

_You know that you’re playing with fire._

_But the alcohol you drank was loosening your inhibitions, letting you do things you’d never consider normally. The thought of playing a dangerous game with this man sends a thrill down your spine._

_You want to lose yourself in him._

_And for one night, nothing else matters. Not the lack of money, not your dead-end job, not your alcoholic husband._

_For one night, there’s just you and him._

\--

The first time you receive a parcel from your secret admirer, it’s a single red rose.

\--

The jazz music pounds at your temples, beating painfully against your skull. All around you, the sounds of eating, drinking, laughing, talking, dancing coming from the other patrons mix together to create a maddening cacophony that is forcefully being drilled in your head.

You sit at a corner table, your head in your hands, staring at your half-empty glass of whiskey. Watching how the amber liquid swirls around in the small crystal container, illuminated by the bar’s overhead lights.

The damp stink of alcohol and sweat is making you nauseous and lightheaded. The whiskey in front of you making you feel feverishly warm.

And yet, you can’t bring yourself to get out and leave.

You don’t want to be here.

You don’t want to go home.

You don’t feel like being alone, but the thought of being in the company of a stranger makes you feel sick and dirty.

It feels like you’re rotting from the inside out, like a ripe fruit left out in the sun too long.

“My dear?”

The familiar voice pierces through your haze as clearly as a ringing bell.

Slowly, tiredly, you raise your head towards the source of the familiar voice. Standing at the side, a hand raised in an aborted gesture, is Gaster.

It feels like ages since you last saw him, even though realistically you know it hasn’t been more than a few days.

He blinks confusedly, and his brow crinkles as he takes you in. He has a strange look on his face; it looks like he’s uncertain whether to be happy to see you, or be sad because of the state you’re in.

You must really look like shit.

“…Gaster,” you softly call out, slowly blinking.

His uncertainty and sadness seems to win over. He carefully sits down in the chair next to you, eyes never leaving yours. Every movement is careful, calculated. He looks like he’s trying to placate a wild, unpredictable beast.

“My dear…” he starts again. “What are you doing here?” you notice his eyelights slowly scanning your body again, taking in your disheveled state, and you have to make a considerable effort not to curl into yourself. You’re not sure you succeed.

His sight eventually rests on the glass of whiskey in front of you, and his frown deepens. He looks back to you.

“Is everything alright?”

You look away, unsure how to answer. You don’t know where you stand with him anymore; you hadn’t parted under the best circumstances, after all.

“ _I_ …”

You hate how small you sound, how your voice cracks at that single word. You clear your throat and force the words out, unwilling to let him assume things.

“I’m fine,” you eventually whisper.

The knowing look in his eye socket tells you very clearly that he doesn’t believe you. You hunch over yourself a bit more, like a scolded child, and reach out to curl your hands around your glass of whiskey, only to blink confusedly when you notice it isn’t there anymore. You pause for a second, then eventually wrap your arms around your middle instead.

“You shouldn’t stay here. It’s not healthy for you.”

You shake your head, and your voice comes out stronger this time. “No… No, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

He lays a hand on your arm. The feeling of his bones against your skin, mixed with your headache and the nausea you’re feeling, makes your skin crawl.

“Please, listen to me. I know you are distraught, and I only want to help-”

“I said _I’m fine!_ ” you snap, locking eyes with him and slapping his hand away.

For a split second, his eye lights go out and his expression darkens, before being replaced by surprised confusion.

In the deafening silence that follows your outburst, you feel shame taking a hold of you, reddening your cheeks.

You briskly look away. 

The jazz music keeps playing around you, contrasting the awkward silence that now settles between you two. You feel his gaze on you, burning in its intensity. 

It feels like there’s a hole in your chest, a gaping maw open wide, eating you up from the inside out. It feels hard to breathe.

“Forgive me.”

Your head shoots up, and you stare at Gaster, confused. _What?_

He’s not looking at you, instead staring at the other patrons in the bar, his face unreadable. His fingers drum on the wooden table, the sound they make drowned out by the ambient music.

His eyelights turn to stare at you, seeming to gauge your reaction, before continuing. “…I know it’s selfish of me to ask you something so personal, especially with how our last conversation ended.” 

…Oh.

You straighten up, understanding dawning on you. His body language seems… uncomfortable, out of place, like he doesn’t know how to properly breach the subject without hurting your feelings.

You feel a bit of guilt mixing in with your grief. 

He was just worried about you.

“No. I – I’m sorry. You’re right,” you sigh, rubbing your arm with one hand. You still can’t fully look him in the eyes, instead focusing on his tie. “I’ve just… I’ve just been…” you sigh again. “I suppose it’s just been a rough time for me. I’m sorry.”

Silence descends once again, uncertain and cautious.

“…I see.”

From the corner of your eye you can see his face soften. “Then there is no need to apologize, my dear.”

You finally, _finally_ raise your head to look at him. His face looks relaxed, pleased with your answer, and he has a small tentative smile playing at the corner of his teeth.

Gaster stands up and offers you his arm. “However, as your friend and confidant, I cannot let you waste away like this.”

You try to protest weakly. It’s sweet that he cares, but you don’t want to leave, and you don’t want to impose on him.

“My dear.”

You freeze, then slowly look up, meeting his concerned expression.

“ _Please_ , let me help you.”

You feel the guilt intensifying, roiling in your stomach like a fistful of worms. You’re torn between the need to grieve and wallow in your mistakes, and not wanting to disappoint your friend. 

Slowly, you gulp and nod. His expression relaxes.

“Come,” he whispers. “I know a quaint little café just down this street. I promise ordering something there will make you feel better.”

Hesitantly, you reach up and entwine your arm with his, following him outside the bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (^.~)


	2. The Masks we Face

_A plate crashes to the floor._

_You barely hear it over the sound of his screams._

_“What are you waiting for? I’m sure you’re just itching to go spend all of_ my _hard-earned money on cheap booze and shitty entertainment!”_

_You feel your teeth grinding, something dark and ugly welling up inside you._

_“Look who’s talking! You don’t get to act all high and mighty with me when each time I come back home you’re passed out drunk on the couch like some homeless bum!”_

_“The only reason I drink so much is because_ you _\- Where are you going?”_

_“Out! I’m done talking, I don’t want to have to look at your mug anymore.”_

_“Come back here! You don’t get to walk out on me and then come back and pretend nothing happened! You don’t get to ignore me and act like nothing’s wrong!”_

_“Ha! Where was this confrontational attitude when I was actually trying to talk things out with you? Holding an actual fucking conversation with you is clearly impossible, so why bother? No, I’m tired of this shit. I’m leaving.”_

_“You-! Fine! You know what? Leave! Go on, get out of here! Go throw some money around and spread your legs for some random stranger! Because that’s all you’re really good at, isn’t it?”_

_You slam the door behind you. As you stalk away, your throat is tight and your eyes wet._

_Where did it all go wrong?_

\--

The second time you receive a parcel from your secret admirer, it’s a white anemone and a spider flower

\--

The café is wonderful, just like Gaster promised.

It’s located just on the edge of the main road; close enough that it can afford to be just a touch fancier than your run-of-the-mill bar, but not so close that it’s overrun by clients and impossible to actually enjoy. He once told you that it was modeled after one of those popular Parisian cafés, which you found fascinating. You have to admit it gives the place a nice exotic touch.

Over the next few days, you find yourself going there more and more often. Most of the time, Gaster accompanies you, but once in a while you head there by yourself, simply to enjoy a cup of coffee and pass the time by people-watching.

This is one of the times where Gaster sits with you, enjoying his own drink, while you take the time to watch the throngs of people bustling around the sidewalk and gather your thoughts.

“I was a terrible wife.”

The words slip out on their own, unbidden and unprompted. Gaster doesn’t say anything, simply watching you from the corner of his eye. You stare at your drink, tracing the edge of the ceramic cup with a finger.

“He wasn’t a perfect husband, either. But…” you sigh. “But he was trying. He was _trying_ , and I could’ve – I _should’ve_ done something to help with that instead of… Instead of running away like a _coward_ ,” you spit out the last word in barely contained anger. 

A warm breeze blows by, ruffling your hair. You look up, and your brow furrows a bit when you notice the sun is setting; the thought of heading home after dark makes you uneasy. 

It brings back a certain memory. Your chest feels tight.

“…But, well… Things were getting better, at least. They weren’t perfect, by all means, but they were getting _better_.”

You feel yourself slowly unravelling the more you talk, your worries spilling out of your mouth like ribbons falling from a cart.

“It was going so well. Everything was going so well and… And _now_ …” you hiccup. “I don’t know what to do anymore.” You run a hand through your hair, frustrated and tired. “Of _course_ , just when everything was getting better, just when everything was starting to look up for once…”

You probably sound crazy. You _feel_ crazy. Poor Gaster probably doesn’t even know what you’re talking about.

“I wish I could go back. I was a terrible wife. I was _such_ a terrible wife,” you choke out.

You feel a hand on your shoulder.

“My dear, you mustn’t torture yourself so. It breaks my Soul to see you like this.”

You slowly turn to look at him. His eyelights are soft around the edges, and the look on his face is open and understanding. It’s a great contrast to the way he presents himself, with his crisp suit and rigid posture. It definitely makes him look more approachable. 

“It’s only natural to make mistakes. It’s not something you should be ashamed of, and it’s not something that diminishes your value in any way. Only a fool would choose to see it that way.”

It’s an … _awkward_ attempt at comforting you, to say the least. You wipe your eyes, blinking your tears away and staring at him. You’re not sure how much you appreciate the implication that your husband was a fool.

But you suppose it’s the thought that counts. And the thought behind it is well-intentioned enough.

You give him a shaky smile. “…I suppose. Still, thank you.”

You glance back at the streets, noticing that the sun has dipped even lower in the sky.

“…I should probably head home. I don’t want to get caught outside after dark.”

Gaster cocks his head to one side, contemplating something. “I see. I suppose that makes sense, yes.” He stands up and offers you his arm. “Shall I accompany you?”

You wave him off. “Oh no, that’s not necessary. I never walk home after dark anymore, and there’s still plenty of people in the streets.”

As you bend down to grab your purse, Gaster frowns at you. “Still, walking the streets alone is not very safe. Especially for a woman.”

You laugh as you place your evening bag’s strap on your shoulder. “I’m a big girl, Gaster. I can take care of myself.” You look him over, feeling amused. “I never took you for a worrywart.”

Gaster looks like he wants to say something else, but he simply shakes his head and places his hands behind his back. “…Then I believe this is goodbye for now.”

You nod, smile and wave at him as you walk away. Gaster briefly waves back.

You turn around and calmly head back to your apartment.

You don’t notice how Gaster keeps staring at you as you disappear into the crowd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> __φ(．．)


	3. Doubts

_There are flowers at your doorstep._

_Seeing this, you simply sigh, slowly bending down to pick them up and tiredly tucking them under your arm as you unlock your door._

_Your apartment is dark, only illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the living room window to your left. It smells vaguely of alcohol._

_You let the door fall shut behind you and carefully remove your shoes, offering your feet some respite from the high heels, before promptly abandoning them at the entrance as you pad further into your apartment._

_You drop the flowers on the kitchen counter, next to the empty whiskey bottles, before pausing. There are soft sounds echoing throughout the apartment._

_You blink and turn to the radio, checking if it’s truly turned off. It is; the sounds aren’t coming from there._

_Slowly, you make your way to your bedroom door, listening as the sounds get progressively louder, eventually turning into soft sobbing. You carefully push the door open and freeze._

_Your husband is sitting on your bed, a half-empty bottle laying on the bedside counter and a picture in his hands. His sobs fill the room._

_You recognize the photograph he’s holding; you took it the day of your wedding. You thought he’d thrown it away._

_Your throat tightens._

_You’re not sure how long you spend outside the room listening to him cry, but eventually you fully open the door and step in the bedroom._

_He pauses, and sluggishly turns to you._

_He looks terrible; his shirt is rumpled, his eyes are red and puffy, his hair is disheveled and tears stain his cheeks. He was always an ugly crier._

_You stare at each other for a moment, before turning to the wardrobe and slowly peeling off your dress._

_You don’t say anything; there’s nothing to be said. The deafening silence speaks for you, filling the room with what-ifs and regrets, old and new._

_There’s no turning back now._

\--

The third time you receive a parcel from your secret admirer, it’s an oleander and a jonquil. 

\--

Lately you spend a lot of time in Gaster’s company. Slowly, but surely, you find your mood improving thanks to him. 

Talking to him is a bit strange. He never complains that you’re bothering him or that you talk too much. He simply listens, patient and understanding. He also occasionally gives out advice or words of comfort, but they tend to be so strange and stilted that you really don’t know what to make of them most of the time.

This time you’re walking down the winding pathway of one of the city’s small parks together. It’s relatively well-cared for, with vibrant grass and healthy trees, though you can still see some trash littering the ground from the corner of your eye and hear the distant honking of automobiles. Gaster is the one who suggested it; you’d initially proposed to have the conversation over the phone, and when he’d refused that, you’d proposed meeting up at a diner, but you’d barely managed to finish your sentence before he immediately countered your offer with his proposal to go to the park. You thought going to a park was a bit excessive for what you wanted to ask him, but it was a nice day outside and you didn’t have anything better to do, so you accepted.

“So… I’ve been thinking of looking for a new job. Unfortunately, now that…” you pause. “Now that I live alone, my old job doesn’t cut it anymore; I just don’t make enough money to live off of.”

He glances at you from the corner of his eye. “My dear, you do realize that if you needed money, you could have simply asked me. Money is not a concern of mine _._ ”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t want to _mooch_ off of you-”

“It’s not mooching if I’m offering,” he says cheekily.

You continue unperturbed. “-And besides, having my own job will allow me to gather up some workplace experience again. Lord knows I’m going to need it; I haven’t worked a day since I was married and I hear that these days employers are being more picky with who they hire.”

“…I see.” He clears his throat. “But why bring this up if you don’t want me to give you money?”

“Well, I know you’re someone who’s very knowledgeable when it comes to the local businesses. So I was wondering if you had any recommendations for me. Any places I might want to check out?” you finish off, turning to look at him expectantly.

There’s a strange look on his face as he stares at you.

“…No. None that come to mind right at this moment.”

You look away, biting your lip. You don’t notice how his eyelights refocus on your lips at that simple action. “Damn. It would’ve made things easier.”

He cocks his head. “I could always check the records in my office to see what I can find for you.”

You wave him off. “No, no, it’s fine. I know you’re a busy person and I don’t want to add on to your workload.”

“Oh, I doubt something as trivial as that would be adding on to my workload,” he says, sounding very amused. He blinks. “Though it _would_ simply be easier if you just let me lend you money.”

You laugh. “Gaster, _no_. You’re not my husband-” he twitches. “So I can’t just let you give me money like an allowance. What would people think? We’d be no better than the gangsters and their molls.”

You turn to look at him, expecting to see an amused, conceding and maybe slightly insulted expression on his face.

And his face _does_ look amused, but his eyelights… His eyelights are cold and calculating. Predatory.

“If you’re simply worried about the opinions of others, I can assure you that that would not be a problem for long.”

His tone sends a shiver down your spine.

Suddenly, you get niggling thought. He never really told you what his job was… _did he_?

It dawns on you that even though you spend so much time with him, you don’t really know much about him.

His name is W.D. Gaster. (He introduced himself the first night you… met.)

He’s very rich and influential. (That much was obvious when you looked at the way he dressed and the way others treated him.)

He’s a very agreeable and polite person. (Is he?)

He’s interested in you. (You noticed the way he looked at you sometimes, but you’d already made it clear that it couldn’t work out between you, so you thought-)

You abruptly realize that there’s no one else walking in the park. You’re completely isolated. 

Just you and him.

You gulp and try to laugh it off, looking away. “N-No, it’s not just that. I told you before, I can’t just take your money like some…” you let your sentence trail off and gulp again.

He chuckles, the sound deep and rumbling. “There’s no need to feel guilty. I _am_ offering, aren’t I?”

You can feel yourself fidgeting under his gaze. “Well, yes, but…! I still don’t want to burden you…”

_I don’t want to be in your debt._

As if reading your thoughts, his expression shifts. It becomes less amused and more pensive.

“I see. Is that how you perceive yourself? A burden?”

He reaches out and gently grasps your chin, turning your head to look at him. The pitch black voids of his eye sockets absorb all the light around them. Looking at them, it feels like you’re sinking into nothingness.

“Then, my dear, I _choose_ to be burdened by you.”

You feel cold.

You don’t know the man in front of you at all, do you?

You take a step back, fleeing his hold on you and shattering the moment.

“I-I should probably head home. It’s getting late, isn’t it?”

Gaster blinks, then turns to look at the sky, where the midday sun is still shining brightly. His eyes slide back over to you and he places his hands behind his back.

“Of course. Let me accompany you-”

“No, thank you!” you practically scream at him, then immediately lower your voice. “It’s-it’s fine. I mean, there are still people around and I can always ask for help if something happens, right?”

He steps forward. “It’s naïve to think like that. You never know what might happen, after all.”

You take another step back. “Oh, it’s alright, I can take care of myself!”

You’re repeating excuses you’ve already said before. You know it, and he knows it. You can see it in his eyes. 

It feels like your thoughts are going too fast, like an out of control automobile speeding down the streets.

You turn around and wave awkwardly, a strained smile on your lips. “So, um, _goodbye_.”

You practically flee away from him, the feeling of his eyes on you only making you want to go faster.

The sounds of your heartbeat pounding in your ears drowns out his reply.

Are you overreacting?

You’re just overreacting, right? Right. Even if you don’t know him that well, that’s no reason to assume he’s a bad person.

You’re just overreacting. You’re just overreacting.

_“Then, my dear, I_ choose _to be burdened by you.”_

_You’re drowning in the emptiness in his eyes._

You shiver and keep walking away.

Back at the park, Gaster watches your retreating form, eye sockets narrowed. He takes out his pocket phone and dials a number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (￢ ￢)


	4. The Types of Comfort

_You’re being followed._

_The sound of your heels_ clack-clack-clacking _on the pavement echo loudly throughout the empty street, matching the frantic beats of your heart. The man’s footsteps, on the other hand, are silent._

_You knew from the moment you saw him that he would be trouble._

_Monsters were never very inconspicuous in public, and this one in particular had stood out to you._

_There’d been something about his gaze; casual, at first glance, but with eyes that were too sharp and attentive, and completely focused on you._

_You left. You fled the bar as fast as you could, disturbed and anxious, and for once eager to reach the comfort of your home._

_But he’d followed you – of course he did – and now you were stuck walking circles around the block, trying to lose him, because you don’t want to lead him to your apartment. You don’t want him to find out where you live._

_You turn down an alleyway, never slowing down, and ignore the way your feet ache with each step you take. The rabbit monster follows you, not once pausing._

_You bite your lip. Too loud. Too loud. Your heels are too loud; no matter how fast you go or how much you manage to outpace him, he can probably track you down just by following all the noise you’re making just by walking._

_You have to get rid of them._

_You speed up, desperate, and come across a crossroads. As quickly as you can, you duck against a wall, take off your shoes and throw them down one of the nearby alleys before taking off running in the opposite direction._

_Now that your shoes are off you run as fast as you can, dodging into side-alleys and making sure to change streets every once in a while, taking the most roundabout route possible. You hear his footsteps following behind you, but you can tell he’s having trouble keeping up with your frantic pace and erratic movements. Every once in a while the footsteps stop before starting up again._

_Eventually you come across a cluster of tin garbage pails, all huddle up together next to the backdoor of a building. Feeling desperate because you still haven’t managed to outrun the monster despite your best efforts, you slip in between them and huddle up, staying as still as possible and trying to blend into the shadows. The putrid smell makes you want to vomit, but you slap a hand over your mouth and try to regulate your breathing._

_The footsteps grow louder and louder, coming closer to where you are. You don’t move a muscle._

_The monster’s dress shoes appear, polished and shiny, just at the edge of your vision._

_You hold your breath and slowly follow them with your eyes as they take a few steps towards you and pause._

_Silence._

_You hear the rabbit monster vaguely grumbling something before the dress shoes start walking past you and eventually break into a light jog, heading down the alleyway._

_You gulp, but don’t move._

_It’s only when his footsteps have faded into the night that you hesitantly crawl out of your hiding place._

_You warily look down the alley you heard him run down, checking to see if he’s coming back, before sprinting in the opposite direction._

_At some point he’s going to realize that this is where he lost you, and he’s going to come back to look for you here. And you don’t want to be here when he does._

_You slam the door behind you as soon as you enter your apartment, and then promptly collapse on your knees, shaking in relief._

_You’re home. You’re safe. He didn’t catch you._

_You try to take deep breaths and focus on calming down, but it feels like there’s TV static in your head. It feels like you’re being smothered._

_There are black spots at the edge of your vision. You press your palms on the wooden boards underneath you. You have a chipped nail. There’s a stain on your skirt, you have to wash that. Something’s dripping. Why is it dripping?_

_Why is it so hard to breathe?_

_Calloused hands grab your shoulders and you yelp._

_“Hey!”_

_Your head snaps up. Your husband is crouching in front of you, holding your shoulders. His hair is mussed and his eyes seem a bit unfocused, but the concern is plain on his face._

_“Hey,” he calls out softly. “You’re okay. Everything’s okay. Deep breaths, alright?”_

_You gulp and shakily nod, trying to ease your breathing. His hands move down to your elbows, and he starts trying to pull you up._

_“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” He looks at you, an uncertain and awkward smile pulling at his lips; he’s trying to be comforting and failing spectacularly. The sight makes a bit of hysteria bubble up in your throat. He doesn’t question why you’re giggling like a maniac as he helps you remove your stained and ruined dress._

_For the rest of the night, he helps you clean yourself up and offers silent comfort by remaining by your side. His glass of liquor remains abandoned on the kitchen counter._

_You’re grateful for that._

  


\--

  


The fourth time you receive a parcel from your secret admirer, it’s a white poppy, a pink camellia and a snapdragon.

  


\--

  


You yawn tiredly, making your way through the crowd of people on the sidewalk and towards your apartment. You now work the night shift as a cleaning maid in some fancy hotel. 

Working at night was tough, but it paid well, and at least this way you don’t have to walk home alone in the evening, so you can’t really complain.

You yawn again. You just wish they had better coffee.

You’re walking automatically, not really registering the world around you except for when to stop and when to go at the crossings. You can’t wait to reach your home and get into bed.

You stop at an intersection for a moment and sigh, trying to remember what the fastest route to your apartment is.

“Hey, bud, watch where you’re going!”

You notice a man start to shout at another just behind you. Shaking your head, you turn left and cross the road.

You’re halfway home when a harried businessman pushes past you, and you have to make a sharp turn to avoid him. It’s then that you notice him. 

It’s the man that was being shouted at.

He’s just a few paces behind you.

You frown, concern bubbling within you. You’re getting a bad feeling.

Suddenly, you’re very, _very_ alert.

You try to dismiss it. It’s just paranoia because of what happened last time.

Even still, you start taking a more roundabout route to your apartment, trying to watch his movements as best you can.

After a while, he turns down a different street. You let out a shaky sigh of relief. 

Just a coincidence.

You keep walking back to your apartment, still feeling a bit shaken because of the false alarm and, after a while, turn down one of the less occupied side-streets, eager to get home and relax.

As you pass by one of the alleyways, a hand shoots out to grab you and pull you in.

Your eyes go wide. You open your mouth to scream, but another hand clamps down on your mouth. The man that was following you slams you against the alley’s wall.

“Got you,” he sneers.

You try to struggle, but it’s no use. He’s much stronger than you.

“Boss is going to be real happy that I-”

You bite down on his hand. He lets a brief shout of pain and removes his palm, giving you the chance to open your mouth and scr-

He grabs your shoulders and slams you against the wall again, purposefully letting your head smack against the red bricks behind you and making you see stars.

“ _Shut up_ ,” he hisses.

You blink, dazed, as he grumbles. You feel the back of your head pulsing with sharp pain. Your vision blurs. It’s hard to focus.

Is he…

He’s pulling out something.

Something. _Something._

What is it?

He pulls out a small device. There are buttons with numbers on it. It reminds you of something, _something_ , _what is_ -

A phone.

Is that a phone?

_You’ve never seen a phone like that._

Your thoughts are wild, unfocused, jumping from one topic to the next, like billiard balls knocking against each other.

A phone.

A _phone_.

He’s _calling someone_.

Panic immediately shoots through you, focus sharpening once again. You struggle with renewed vigor, trying desperately to free yourself from his hold.

“Stop. _Moving_. Or I’ll-”

You sharply raise your knee, slamming it between his legs. He grunts in pain and releases you, falling to his knees.

You stumble away from him and run back to the main street, occasionally tripping and falling as you rush back home to your apartment.

You fumble with the keys in front of the entrance of your home, before finding the right one and basically flinging the door open.

The room is spinning as you slam the door behind you.

Last time…

Last time…

What did you do last time?

Your husband. Your husband helped.

You choke a sob as you realize he couldn’t help you this time.

But…

Gaster. 

You had his number.

  


_You’re drowning in the emptiness in his eyes._

  


No, you desperately needed someone to talk to, to comfort you.

You stumble over to your candlestick phone and shakily dial it as you press the receiver against your ear. It takes you a moment to get his number right. The whole room is spinning around you and you see black spots at the edge of your vision.

“ _Hel-_ ”

“Gaster!”

A pause. “ _My dear?_ ” he seems confused.

“Ga-aster, oh God, so-omething, sommm- _thing_ terrible happened - I don’t know what to do,” you babble and slur into the microphone, sobbing.

“ _Please, calm down._ ” His calm voice provides a sort of physical comfort, steadying you like an anchor. “ _Tell me what happened, from the very beginning_.”

And so you do, letting the story spill through your lips breathlessly. You’re still shaking and jittery, and your every sentence is stuttered.

“And this hap-ppened before! When my husband-”

“ _My dear,_ ” he cuts you off. “ _I warned you this would happen_.”

You freeze. 

Your throat suddenly goes dry.

The room has stopped spinning. 

Everything feels paused, frozen solid, like that moment of stillness just before a picture is taken.

Your voice is small and weak, barely a whisper. “...what?”

“ _Didn’t I tell you, time and time again, that it would be dangerous to walk home alone? And yet you never listened to me. You always refused that I accompany you._ ”

You’re speechless. The words are physically lodged in your throat and you can’t bring yourself to cough them out.

“Didn’t-didn’t you _listen_ to what I just said?” you ask disbelievingly.

“ _I did. But I believe it is you who has not listened to me_.”

You bristle. “I was just atta-acked! This is not the time for the ‘I told you so’!”

“ _On the contrary. I believe this is a valuable lesson for you._ ”

“No! Shut up! You don’t get to treat me like this right now! My husband would’ve never-”

“ _Darling,_ ” his tone is chilling. “ _Your husband is_ dead _._ ”

Your heart stops. It feels like insects are crawling all over your skin and worms are digging deeper into your insides.

You feel as cold as a corpse.

“ _I am the only one you have left._ ”

You feel a scream bubbling up deep within you. Your hands begin shaking once again.

Is it possible to die from this kind of despair? The kind of despair that curdles your blood like old milk and digs into your bones, eating you from the inside out. The kind that makes you feel like roadkill on the side of the street, with the sun burning down on your exposed entrails and maggots festering in your eyes.

_Is this what it feels like to rot?_ you wonder.

“ _Now, you-_ ”

You slam the receiver on the switch hook, cutting off the call.

Leaning out, you vomit, spilling your stomach’s contents on your carpet, your heaves eventually mixed in with sobs.

You fall to your knees and curl up into a ball, wailing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∑(O_O;)


	5. The Effects of Discomfort

_The flowers were cute, at first._

_It was a bit flattering that someone thought you were pretty enough to warrant admiration. And on particularly bad days, when the fights with your husband were at their worst, the flowers always offered you a bit of comfort; your husband didn’t appreciate you, but at least someone else did, right?_

_They became more unsettling once you realized they were being delivered personally._

_You’d found out by accident, honestly. You’d been heading back home and had come across the postman standing in front of your worn-down apartment building, doing his usual rounds. You weren’t in a hurry, so you’d decided to receive your daily mail personally._

_You looked down at the letters in your hands, a bit confused. “Oh! I think you forgot to give me the flowers.”_

_The postman gave you a strange look. “I’m sorry ma’am, you must be mistaken, there’re no flowers here.” He tipped his hat. “Have a good day.”_

_You stood there, letters in your hands, and watched the postman leave, feeling puzzled and a bit disappointed._

_At first, you simply thought you wouldn’t receive flowers that day; it happened from time to time._

_Except later on, when you opened the door to go out again, there they were, sitting innocuously at your doorstep._

_The realization hit you like a bucket of ice water._

_You’d always assumed the postman delivered the flowers on behalf of your secret admirer, so to find out he was coming here personally to give them to you was incredibly jarring._

_The thought that some stranger, no matter how innocent or well-intentioned, knew where you lived was very alarming._

_The flowers were cute at first._

_But now, they had become disturbing._

_You stand on the threshold of your home, next to your husband, simply staring at your once bare living room._

_You feel your heart pounding in your ears. Your hands are shaking._

_There are red roses_ everywhere _. They cover every surface of the living room._

_He knows where you live._

_He knows how to get in._

_That night, you don’t go out. You spend the rest of the day with your husband, tearing down those damned roses and throwing them away._

_After that, you throw away all the flowers you find at your doorstep._

_You don’t go to the bar as often. You notice your husband starts drinking less than he used to, and he’s always watching the streets from the window now._

_You think he’s been considering moving away. You’ve been considering it too._

  


You’re scared.

  


\--

  


The fifth time you receive a parcel from your secret admirer, it’s a red carnation, an azalea and a yellow poppy.

  


\--

  


You’re avoiding Gaster.

You realized that trusting him was a mistake and now you’re fixing that. You don’t want to see him anymore.

The day after you’d been attacked, you called him and told him exactly that, before hanging up on him as he started to complain.

The phone rang non-stop for the rest of the day after that. You didn’t answer.

You were done.

You see him outside sometimes, walking purposefully down the street, eyelights frantically looking for something , and as soon as you lock eyes with him, you duck into the nearest alley and slip away. You suspect he deliberately haunts the usual road you take to go to work so he can confront you, so you’ve been switching up your route every once in a while.

You’d said what you wanted to say; you have nothing else to tell him.

Normally, you would have started avoiding going out as much as possible to decrease the chances of coming across him, but you still need to go to work to be able to pay the bills and buy food, so unfortunately that’s not really an option.

You just hope he’ll get the message and leave you alone soon, because you don’t know how long you can endure having to constantly be on alert before you snap.

Not that him going away would make you any less reluctant to leave the safety of your home. 

You’re still paranoid that you’ll get jumped by that man on the streets, so you’ve taken to walking around with a kitchen knife in your purse. You know that you might not even get a chance to use it if he _does_ attack you, but it makes you feel safer. Just a bit.

  


The phone won’t. Stop. Ringing.

And you know exactly who’s calling.

Lately he’s taken to trying to call you in the middle of the night, timing his calls just right so that they’ll always wake you up when you try to sleep.

You’d actually fallen for it the first time, and groggily answered the phone before you’d realized who was on the other end and promptly hung up. Ever since then, the calls have been non-stop.

You even had a neighbor come banging at your door once complaining about the noise.

You’ve had to start removing the receiver from the switch hook and placing it on the table every night before going to bed, just so you can be certain you’ll get a good night’s sleep and not be woken up by one of his damn calls.

  


You’ve been fired from your job.

When the manager brought you in his office and promptly kicked you out for no good reason, you’d immediately started complaining and demanding an explanation. For some reason he seemed to get nervous when you asked that. You found yourself getting extremely suspicious and insisting he owed you a reason for firing you.

You spent nearly an hour in that office, arguing with your now ex-manager.

You would have stayed there longer, arguing with him, but you had bigger problems.

Like, say, the fact that you’re out of a job when in one week you’ll need to pay your rent.

Luckily, your savings should get you through this first month just fine, though you’re going to be a bit tight on money afterwards. But you _have_ to find a new job as soon as possible; you won’t last another week otherwise.

  


You sit in your living room, your head in your hands, bills splayed out on the table in front of you.

You tried everything; from the classiest hotels to the seediest bars. You even offered to work overtime, for minimum wage, on the weekend… But it was useless.

Nobody is willing to hire you.

You grow more and more restless for each day spent jobless. You’re desperate. 

If you don’t get a job soon, you’ll be kicked out of your apartment and forced to roam the streets. And being forced to roam the street in this city is a death sentence. It’s the reason why you see so few homeless people while walking outside. Those that are more street-smart, more experienced, know where to hide out and where to gather food, so they don’t _need_ to show themselves.

The others… well.

Let’s just say that if you spot a homeless person on the street once, the chances of spotting them twice are very low.

And unfortunately, you’re neither street-smart nor experienced at being homeless.

Truthfully, you’ve started to consider more… _illegal_ means of earning money.

The pristine white envelopes of your bills seem to taunt you in the apartment’s dimness.

There’s a knock at the door.

You blink, and raise your head to stare at your apartment’s entrance, confusion washing over you.

You… aren’t expecting anyone. And the landlady has already come by to collect your rent.

The person on the other side knocks again.

You stand up and make your way to the front door, a bit uneasy. Carefully, you unlock it and slowly open it a crack to see who’s on the other side.

Your eyes widen. You feel your heart stop.

It’s Gaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ┬┴┬┴┤(･_├┬┴┬┴


	6. Certainty

_Today is one of the bad days._

_You’re not sure how this particular fight starts. Maybe it’s because he blamed you for what had happened with the roses. Maybe it’s because you’d criticized his alcoholism. Maybe one of you simply forgot to do the dishes, and that was enough of a spark to ignite another one of your shouting matches._

_“You always do this! You always pretend like nothing’s wrong and run away from your problems!”_

_“What am I supposed to do? You won’t listen to me! The only time you try to talk to me is when you scream at me! So of course I stopped trying!”_

_“Because screaming seems to be the only thing you understand! Don’t act like you’re completely blameless! I’m so goddamn tired of seeing you walk out of that door and parade yourself like a harlot in seedy bars!”_

_You flinch. “Don’t-”_

_“I’m not finished!” he interrupts, screaming. “How do you think that makes me feel?! Knowing my wife is dating other men,_ sleeping _with other men and there’s nothing I can do about it?!” He buries his head in his hands. “Do you know how I feel when I see you come back home in the early morning, body covered in love bites and hickeys?”_

_There’s a lump in your throat. “_ Don’t _. Don’t act like such a martyr, because you’re just as bad. I’ve spent entire days watching you drink bottle after bottle of alcohol and getting so drunk you couldn’t even remember I was your wife. I’ve spent entire nights locked in our bedroom, hearing tearing the living room to pieces in one of your drunken rages.”_

_“I never touched you!” he argues._

_“You didn’t need to touch me to harm me!” you scream back. “You can’t understand how it feels to not feel safe in your own home with your own husband! And when I asked you to stop you completely ignored me and kept drinking!”_

_He grits his teeth, eyes shining with anger and resignation._

_“I only started drinking once you started cheating on me,” he mutters, in a last attempt at winning this argument._

_You scoff and look away. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”_

_You know why he_ really _started drinking; at first, it was a way to relax and cope with the stress of his cutthroat job and hard-ass boss. But it soon became an addiction, a poison that eroded away at his physical and mental health._

_You look back at him. There’s a strange look on his face, full of realization and understanding and contempt. You wonder if you have the same look on your face._

_You wonder if this argument is a step forward._

  


\--

  


The sixth time you receive a parcel from a secret admirer, it’s a stock, a yellow zinnia and a bittersweet.

  


\--

  


He coolly stares at you through the small opening, his eyelights scanning your body.

“Have you-”

You try to slam the door in his face. He stops it with one hand, and swiftly pushes it back open, making you stumble back.

“What are you _doing_ here?” you snarl, trying to hide how anxious you’re really feeling.

You never told him where you live. You never showed him where you live. You never even vaguely _mentioned_ where you live.

He stands in the doorframe, the hallway’s light shining behind him, his silhouette dark and the only part of his face visible being the two white pinpricks that formed his eyelights.

He cocks his head to one side. “My dear, if you’d have let me finish, you would already now,” he scolds. His tone is frigid, but his stare seems to be burning into you. 

“As I was saying, before you so rudely interrupted, I came to ascertain that you had learned your lesson.”

You stare at him, bemused.

“ _What_.”

He folds his hands behind his back and steps further into your apartment. You scramble away from him, making sure to always keep him in your sights.

“I admit, it hasn’t been my most… _elegant_ work. But you made me desperate.” He turns to you. “I suppose you can feel proud of yourself for that. Well done.”

You bare your teeth. “ _What are you talking about?_ ”

He blinks and stares at you for a moment, before his teeth slowly curl into a smile.

“Hm.”

He flicks his eyelights to the stack of bills on your table. You follow his gaze, and furrow your brows, confused.

What did your money have to d-

Then it clicks.

Your eyes snap back to him and you find him watching, looking extremely amused.

No. 

_No_.

There is _no way_. 

You know that he’s someone important, but a single monster can’t possibly have _this much_ power and influence.

…

_Unless…_

The crisp, expensive suit. The way everyone cowers in his presence. The way he can manipulate the city like it’s his own personal playground.

“You _son of a bitch_ ,” you whisper in disbelief.

You feel yourself breaking out into a cold sweat, clammy and constricting. Your heart is pounding.

His amusement seems to grow. “I was wondering when you would realize.”

You take a step back. He steps forward, following you.

“Truthfully, I didn’t want you to find out this way. Not my most flattering moment, I’ll admit,” he chuckles. “But you’ve proved to be exceptionally stubborn and exceptionally slippery, so desperate times require desperate measures.” His eyelights seem to pin you down. “Tell me, my dear, are you more willing to cooperate now that you know who I am?”

“ _No!_ ” you scream at him, surprising him and yourself with the vehemence in your voice. “You- You _stalk_ me, you keep obsessively calling me, you _insult_ me when someone else attacks and _hurts_ me-”

“He _harmed_ you?” Gaster snarls.

“-you get me fired and stop me from getting a new job, and you _still_ expect me to _listen to you_?” you finish, shouting.

What he just said suddenly registers. You feel your face go slack as you take in his expression, the tone of his voice, the way he said it.

“Oh God. _You_ ordered that man to hurt me.”

“I ordered him to _capture_ you,” he growls. “Not to _harm_ you.”

He says it like it’s somehow better. Like it somehow excuses what he did.

Your voice is soft. “…Did you order the _other one_ too?”

He stares at you, eyes lidded, looking bored. 

“Yes.”

You feel sick.

He continues on, unperturbed. “I was quite… _displeased_ when I found out what had happened to him,” he looks away. “He was one of my best men.”

“ _You_ were displeased?!” you scream. “He broke into my house! He almost killed my husband!”

He clicks his tongue. “Ah yes, your _husband_. The unexpected variable in this equation.” His eyelights slide back to you. “Ah, but he’s not here now.”

You feel a lump forming in your throat. You back away from him, heading towards the door.

A loud _slam!_ resonates from behind you and you jump, whirling around. 

The door just closed on its own.

You turn back to Gaster and startle again. His face is inches from yours.

“My dear, what makes you think I’m going to just let you _leave?_ ” he murmurs. 

You gulp and try to stare him down as best you can. “What makes you think I’m not going to fight back?”

He cocks his head to the side. “I’ve told you before, haven’t I, my dear? I am the only one you have left.”

“I’d rather be _alone_ ,” you spit.

You face each other off in silence.

“…I see.” His cold gaze is back. “Unfortunately, I can’t allow that.”

Monsters are beings of magic and intent. You know this. Everyone knows this.

One hit.

One hit with _intent_ is all you need.

You snarl and launch your fist at his face.

Gaster doesn’t move an inch, his eyelight briefly flickering to another color.

Pain explodes in your body.

Everything goes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ʘ ͜ʖ ʘ)


	7. The Faces we Mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the end.

_Your eyes snap open._

_You lay still in your bed, wondering what woke you up._

_Then you hear it; there’s shuffling in the living room._

_Slowly, you glance at your alarm clock and feel your blood run cold. It’s too early for it to be your husband back from work._

_So that only means one thing._

_There’s a stranger in your apartment._

_As silently as possible, you slip out of bed and head over to the bedroom window located on the other side of the room. You look outside. The metal fire escape leads to a side alley._

_You unlock the latch and raise the window pane up before slipping one leg outside, heart pounding._

_The bedroom door opens._

_For a split second, you freeze, before frantically trying to scramble outside in panic._

_As you land outside, something wraps around your legs, binding them together and making you fall on the metal grate floor of the fire escape._

_You look behind you in panic. Your assailant walks over to the window and leans outside, looking at you._

_It’s the rabbit monster._

_He moves a toothpick around in his mouth._

_“Ye’re a slippery gal, ain’tcha?” he cocks his head to the side, one ear drooping a bit. “I can see why he likes ya.”_

_He hops out and grabs your arm, pulling you up. You try to struggle and hit him._

_Monsters react to intent, right? You just have to_ want _to harm him to cause him damage._

_But as soon as you try, you feel your wrists get bound together tight. You look down and see some sort of weird strip of light holding them together. The same strip of light binds your legs._

_“Now, none o’ that.” you turn to look at him and lunge forward, trying to bite him. He sighs and dodges, before lightly flicking his wrist. Suddenly, the same strip of light appears in your mouth, gagging you._

_“Listen, it ain’t my job to harm ya. But if ya keep struggling, I ain’t gonna have a choice. So we can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way. What do you say?” he asks, looking at you intently. His hold on your arm tightens minutely._

_You bite into your gag, anxiety and frustration mixing in your chest. Reluctantly, you nod._

_His ears perk up a bit. “Good choice.”_

_Still holding your arm, he hops back inside, then helps maneuver you through the window. He practically has to drag you out of the bedroom and into the living room because of how your legs are tied together; he doesn’t seem to mind, clearly preferring having to drag you rather than risk you escaping._

_He releases your arm and lets you plop down on the living room floor. You immediately start to wiggle, trying to loosen and escape your binds. He snorts._

_“Save yer energy, kid. Ya ain’t getting out of those binds anytime soon.”_

_As he walks over to your candlestick phone and dials a number, your eyes snap back to him and you immediately shout, getting his attention. Despite your gag, you try to beg him not to do this._

_He sighs and shrugs. “Sorry, chickadee. Ye’re kinda flighty, and the boss don’t like that.”_

_What? What does that even_ mean _?_

_His attention focuses back on the receiver and he perks up a bit. “Hey. It’s me.”_

_You watch him listen to the person talking on the other end before he pauses, one of his ears rising up and turning towards the front door. “Wait a sec’.”_

_He lowers the receiver and turns to the door. He looks at you suspiciously, then presses the receiver back against his ear. “Gonna hafta call ya back. Something came up.”_

_He hangs up and immediately strides towards the apartment’s entrance, slipping a knife out of his pocket on the way._

_You scream through the gag, asking him to stop, knowing exactly what he’s planning to do._

_He glances at you and frowns. Your binds tighten painfully around your limbs. Your whimper, folding in on yourself in pain._

_“Shut up.”_

_The binds loosen again, and you almost cry in relief._

_He places himself right next to the doorway, back to the wall and knife in one hand._

_You hear keys sliding into the door’s lock. The rabbit narrows his eyes._

_You feel dread creeping up on you._

_The door knob turns._

_The door opens a crack, revealing your husband’s familiar face._

_You scream at the top of your lungs. The rabbit lunges._

_Your husband's eyes widen and he immediately drops to the floor, falling forward. The slash meant for his throat misses._

_The rabbit turns, preparing to lunge again, but your husband is faster, planting a kick in his stomach, knocking the wind out of him and sending him crashing against the wall. As the monster catches his breath, your husband scrambles up and looks around him. His eyes lock with yours, and his expression immediately turns furious._

_He whirls back towards the rabbit, readying his stance._

_“You_ son of a bitch! _”_

_He throws a punch at the monster’s face, but the rabbit flicks his wrist, and a band of light wraps itself around his arm and sharply pulls him back, making him fall on his back once again._

_You shout in concern and try to wriggle out of your binds. They loosen a fraction._

_Your eyes widen, and you discreetly glance at the rabbit before trying to loosen your binds some more._

_The monster tries to take a stab at your husband again, but he rolls away, arm still pinned to the floor by the band of light._

_Your husband rears his leg back to kick him again, but light wraps around his neck, pinning him to the floor and choking him. He gasps, and claws at the bind with his free hand._

_The binds on you loosen again. You keep wriggling, and one of your legs begins to minutely start slipping out of its bind._

_Holding his knife ready, the monster approaches your suffocating husband, who almost manages to kick him again by flailing around. The rabbit frowns and flicks his wrist again, binding your husband’s legs and remaining arm to the floor. You notice his breaths are getting shallower._

_There! You manage to slip out your leg from the binds, and you immediately stumble upright, running and tackling the rabbit to the ground._

_He grunts as he hits the floor, the knife falling from his grasp. You notice the ties on your wrists loosening a bit more. From the side, you hear your husband deeply inhale._

_You raise your fists, still tied together by the band of light, and slam them on his face once, twice, three times._

_He snarls and slams his fist against your temple, throwing you to the side. Your shoulder hits the floor painfully._

_Dazed, you scramble back as he gets up and looms towards you. There’s dust on his face._

_“Fine, we’ll do this the hard way then.”_

_He flicks his wrist._

_Suddenly there’s bands constricting your knees, your elbows, your wrists, your throat, over your eyes, around your shoulders. They tighten painfully and you scream, writhing on the floor._

_You can’t breathe_

_You can’t_

_You_

_You feel yourself slipping into unconsciousness._

_“You bastard! That’s my_ wife _!”_

_There’s a wet sound of impact._

_Suddenly, the bands all around your body disappear and you gasp in relief._

_Coughing, you fearfully look around you to see what just happened._

_The rabbit is standing with his back to you, looking down at his chest, surprised and confused. Your husband stands in front of him, a reddish-purple bruise on his neck and wrists, the rabbit’s knife in one hand._

_The monster looks up at your husband, expression still shocked. “You…”_

_He falls to his knees, coughing, hand pressed to his chest, trying to hold the wound on his chest together._

_He looks back down at his wound, just as his body slowly starts dissolving into dust._

_Even once he’s just a pile of dust on the floor, you just keep staring in disbelief._

_It takes your husband falling to his knees and vomiting to snap you out of your daze._

_Your body hurts too much to stand, so you simply crawl over to him, carefully avoiding the pile of dust and the puddle of vomit on the way._

_You carefully place a hand on his shoulder. “He-Hey.”_

_He slowly raises his head and stares at you blankly, before immediately scooping you up into his arms. “Oh God… Oh God…” he whispers. “You’re alright. You’re okay.”_

_Your throat feels tight. You feel your eyes prickling with tears. “Y-Yeah.”_

_“I thought you were going to die. I thought he was going to kill you, oh God…”_

_You bury your face in his shoulder. “Y-Yeah…” you choke out._

_“I’m sorry,” he sobs. “I’m so sorry. Oh God, I’m so sorry. I should’ve been here with you. I should’ve been here to protect you.”_

_You hold him tighter. “You sa-aved me. You were th-there when it mattered. You_ saved _me. You- Do-on’t apologize.”_

_“I’ll be better. I’ll do better. Oh God, oh God, I’m_ sorry _. I-I’ll throw away all the alcohol. I won’t ever touch a fucking glass of the stuff ever again. But please,_ please _don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.”_

_You pull away from him, tears streaming down your face. “I won’t. I won’t. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, you were right, I should never have gone out like I did…”_

_“Don’t say that. Don’t say that,” he murmurs, looking at you, sobbing._

_“I’m sorry for che-eating on you. I’m sorry for always running away-y like a coward. I’m sorry I’m such a terrible wife-”_

_He grabs your hands together and squeezes. “You’re not. I love you. Oh God, I love you so much.”_

_That just makes you sob harder. You hug him, squeezing tight. “I’ll do be-etter. I’m s-so sorry. I thought he was going to kill you,” you cry. “I won’t run away. I wo-won’t, I swear to God.”_

_He squeezes back. “We’ll be better. We_ will _.”_

_“I l-love you. I love you,” you babble._

_“I love you too.”_

  


\--

  


The seventh time you receive a parcel from your secret admirer, it’s a dandelion, a flax and an ambrosia.

  


\--

  


You wake up to the smell of cigarette smoke.

You blink groggily, your head pounding and body aching. As you shift, you feel the bite of a length of rope burning your wrists.

You freeze, then begin trying to slip your wrists out of your binds.

“I see you’re awake, my dear.”

Your head snaps up.

Sitting on a chair in front of you, legs crossed, smoking a cigarette, is Gaster.

He blows a cloud of smoke through his teeth. His eyelights still shine bright through the haze.

The light shining overhead bathes the room in warm tones and accentuates every shadow on his face, every crease of his clothing. The smoke billows and swirls all around the rest of the room.

“Let me go,” you order shakily.

He blinks. “Now, why would I do that? After all the trouble I went through to catch you in the first place…” He smirks. “It would be a bit of a waste, don’t you think?”

“I’m not some sort of _prize_ left in the open for you to claim! Let me go!”

He takes another drag of his cigarette and stares at you.

The moment drags on, lengthening, just like the small clump of ash on the tip of his cigarette.

Eventually, he opens his mouth to speak again.

“From the moment I first saw you, I realized you would be trouble,” he whispers, sounding wistful. “I am usually a very logical and composed man, you see. But you brought out something more… _impulsive_ in me.”

He presses the cigarette against the armrest of his chair, snuffing it out. “The night we shared together… it was _ecstasy_.” He smiles at you. “Don’t you think so?”

He stands up and steps towards you, slow and predatory, his eyes never leaving yours. You lean away from him, desperate to put some distance between the two of you. 

“So you can understand why I was a bit vexed when I found out that to you, I was only a bed warmer.”

He rests his hands against you wrists, just over the rope that binds them, and leans in.

“I don’t want to share only one of your nights. I want _all_ of your nights. I want you to belong to me, body and soul. I want you to be _mine_.”

You grit your teeth, disgusted. “You have a strange way of showing affection, don’t you?”

He hums, eyes on your lips. “Do I?”

He leans forward, eye sockets lidded, and panic shoots through you. You try to lean away, but he places his hand on the back of your neck, holding you in place.

You watch as his teeth come closer and closer to your lips.

In a fit of desperation, you rear your head back and then jerk it forward, slamming it against his skull.

Gaster curses and stumbles back, holding his head in pain.

Your vision blurs momentarily, and you try to blink away the black spots in your vision and ignore the pain on your forehead, always keeping your eyes on him.

His eyelights snap to you and a chuckle rumbles through his chest, deep and foreboding. 

“ _Lively_ , aren’t you, my dear?”

You glare at him. “Stay away from me. I _hate_ you.”

He lowers his hand from his head, smirking again. “Dear, I can guarantee you will end up changing your mind sooner or later.” He opens his arms wide. “I can offer you anything you want.”

“You can’t just _buy_ my affections! You just ruined my life with your little stunt!”

“Yes, and I can help you _rebuild_ it.”

He steps forward and reaches out. You snap your teeth, trying to bite him.

He chuckles and swiftly grabs your chin. “Play nice, darling. Biting is reserved for the bedroom.”

The look he gives you makes you sick.

“The day I’ll sleep with you again is the day I’ll bite off my own tongue.”

His smile fades and he looks thoughtful. “Yes… Humans can _do_ that, can’t they? I suppose I’ll have to put in place some preventive measures against it.”

You stiffen. What does he mean by that?

“It _is_ better to be safe rather than sorry,” he continues. “After all, you’ve proven to be quite resourceful.” His lip twitches. “I was actually surprised. I believed Jackrabbit would’ve been able to easily apprehend you. It is only after the fact that I realized that, to a human, a monster would very obviously stand out in the crowd. I suppose that was my mistake.”

“A mistake you fixed by sending a _human_ after me the second time,” you mutter.

He actually looks smug at that. Bastard.

You want to wipe that smile off of his face.

You bare your teeth. “Too bad even _that_ didn’t work, huh? I guess you’re not as clever as you thought you were.”

His grip on your chin tightens. “Careful, my dear. I may be a magnanimous man, but even _I_ have my limits.”

“ _Magnanimous_? You kidnapped me! You stalked me, had one of your men break into my home to attack me, got me fired from my job and almost forced me to kiss you! You’re the most selfish person I’ve ever met! You claim that you love me, but you don’t really care about what I want, you just like the idea of possessing me, like a child with a shiny new toy! You wouldn’t know love if it hit you in the face!”

His expression darkens. “ _That’s not true._ I _do_ love you.”

“ _My husband_ loved me! You just see me as a _sheba_ ,” you spit out the last word.

He grits his teeth. “Your husband was an alcoholic and a dewdropper.”

“He was a _good man!_ You will _never_ be half the man he’d been.”

You watch as his eyelights dim, and eventually go completely out, leaving you staring at the two voids within his eye sockets.

The sight makes fear and uncertainty blossom in your chest.

“Perhaps,” he starts, removing his fingers from your chin. “I’ve been a bit too _lenient_ with you.”

The air is heavy, buzzing with an unidentifiable energy that bears down on you and suffocates you. You feel static crackling and popping at the edge of your hearing. It suddenly feels hard to breathe.

“You will learn to love me and, most of all, you will learn _respect_.” The weight pressing down on you becomes even heavier. It constricts your chest, your lungs, leaving you gasping. His tone remains even during his tirade, somehow making it even more intimidating. “And I will not tolerate being compared to a man who begs for his life and cries in the face of danger like a _sniveling coward._ ”

Everything freezes. The pressure in the air abruptly disappears.

You stare at him, processing what he just said. Gaster pauses and, between one blink and the next, his eyelights reappear as he realizes what he just revealed. He clicks his tongue, looking annoyed.

You’re still staring at him, unresponsive.

Something dark and ugly starts bubbling up deep within you, like black tar that coats all of your insides and eats up every last shred of doubt that you might’ve had. It feels like staring into a deep abyss and embracing every dark thought, every regrettable action that you might’ve had.

You swore that you’d be a better person. 

But at this very moment, staring at Gaster, watching how his cold and remorseless gaze rests upon you, you know you can’t keep that promise anymore.

“I am going to kill you.” 

The words slowly spill out of your mouth like sand from an hourglass, your voice barely a whisper when you say them. In the quietness of the room, he hears you all the same. 

Gaster simply looks faintly amused. 

“No, I don’t think you will,” he says, looking pointedly at your restraints.

“Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow,” you continue. “But I swear to God you _son of a bitch_ , I am going to _kill you!_ ”

Your voice rises with every word, eventually ending in an enraged scream. His face only looks more and more amused the more you talk.

You want to stab him. You want to slash his throat and watch his dust spill on your fingers like warm blood.

It’s all his fault. _It’s all his fault._

He coolly gazes at you. “…I see.”

Gaster glances at his watch and adjusts his suit. “Unfortunately, I believe our time is up.” He looks back to you. “I am a busy man after all. Perhaps you’ll get your chance another time, my dear?”

“Don’t _mock_ me!” you scream at him. “Don’t you dare _fucking mock me!_ ”

He turns around and walks away, opening the door that leads outside.

“ _Did you hear me, you sick bastard?! I’ll kill you! I won’t rest until I have your dust coating my hands!_ ”

He pauses in the doorway, and turns his face to the side, looking at you from the corner of his eye.

“My dear…”

You grit your teeth, watching that smug amused glint shining in his eye socket.

“I would like to see you _try._ ”

You ball your fists up, digging your nails in the palms of your hands and grinding your teeth in frustration.

He smiles. “Enjoy your new room.”

The door falls shut behind him with a resounding _clang!_ , the sound echoing around you like the death toll of a funeral bell.

The room’s four walls muffle your furious screams as you let out all of your grief and anger and frustrations through your voice.

And you swear, that no matter what you have to do, no matter who you have to use and what you have to destroy… you _swear_ that you will somehow find a way to kill W.D. Gaster.

  


This was only the _beginning._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ￣ω￣)ノﾞ⌒☆ﾐ(o _ _)o
> 
> Alternate chapter title:  
> oH MY GOD GASTER STOP


	8. Three's a Crowd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where it all really starts.

_It’s been a few days since The Incident._

_Reconciling with your husband hasn’t magically made all of your problems disappear, but it’s a step forward._

_You know as well as he does that it’s impossible for him to just stop drinking in one day, but he’s been making an effort to cut back on how much he drinks._

_He’s trying, and that’s what really matters to you._

_Which is why you’ve sworn to try and be a better person too._

_But first, there is something – or rather some_ one – _you have to take care of._

_You walk into the bar where you’d first met and scan the crowd. It isn’t your usual meeting time, but he told you once that he could usually be found at the bar at all hours of the day – you suspect he’s in a partnership with the owner of the bar or something like that._

_You know he might not take it well, but you also know he’s a patient and reasonable man, so you hope he’ll understand in the end. You wouldn’t be doing this if you believed there was no hope of him understanding._

_He’s actually quite easy to find, since the bar is pretty much empty at this time of day and since, as a monster, he just naturally stands out. You spot him at a table at the far end of the room, talking with another man._

_You calmly walk over, careful not to interrupt their conversation._

_Not that it matters in the end, since he sees you out of the corner of his eye and immediately stops talking._

_“My dear?”_

_Gaster looks pleasantly surprised by your presence. “What are you doing here? I thought you only came in the evening.”_

_You nod, a bit embarrassed. “I do,_ usually _. But I’m here to tell you something.” Then you turn to look at the man opposite him. “Oh! Unless, um, you’re busy. I can always come back later if you are.”_

_He blinks, his brows raising in surprise. “No, of course not. This meeting is trivial, my dear. It…”he glances pointedly at the man in front of him. “…can be continued later.”_

_The man simply nods and gets up, walking away. You watch him leave, the turn back to Gaster._

_He smiles and waves at the chair facing him, which was previously occupied by the other man. “Please, take a seat.”_

_And so you do._

_He crosses his legs and leans back in his chair, looking at you curiously. “So, what did you want to talk to me about, my dear?”_

_You stare at the table and fiddle with the edge of your blouse, nervous and unsure about how to tell him._

_You eventually take a deep breath and sigh, raising your head to look him in the eye. “I’m sorry. I won’t be able to come here and meet up with you anymore.”_

_He freezes. Whatever he was expecting you to say, you for sure that wasn’t it._

_For a moment, he doesn’t answer. Then:_

_“…Well, if you can’t meet with me here, then we can always arrange-”_

_You shake your head. “No. You don’t understand. I’ve just reconciled with my husband and-”_

_“You’re… married?” he interrupts confusedly. Immediately after, his gaze sharpens, gaining a calculating edge, and his friendly demeanor disappears. He seems to have realized something. “You’re_ married _.”_

_You look away. “…Yes. I’m married.”_

_The air is tense. Gaster sets his jaw._

_“For how long?”_

_You press your lips together and close your eyes, dreading the inevitable. “…I was married from the very beginning.”_

_Silence falls once again._

_“…I see.”_

_You look back at him and immediately regret it. The look on his face makes your blood run cold._

_“Tell me, did you enjoy playing me for a fool?”_

_“I-”_

_“I imagine it must’ve been_ amusing _to deceive me all this time.”_

_“N-No, you-”_

_“But let me tell you this…” The air grows heavy, swirling with pure power. You sink in your chair, terrified._

_“I do_ not _appreciate being treated like a fool.”_

_You gulp, too scared to speak._

_You don’t know how long you stay like this, frozen to the spot, feeling like your heart is going to burst out of your chest._

_Eventually the pressure subsides, and you take a deep breath before uncertainly glancing at Gaster._

_He’s looking to the side, his expression annoyed and thoughtful, but nowhere near as stormy as before._

_“You…” he starts, then pauses, shakes his head and falls silent again._

_Eventually, he tries again._

_“This is not the sort of insult that is easily forgiven. You are not a stupid woman, so I’m sure you’re aware of this fact.” He looks at you. “So why did you come here to confess?”_

_You straighten. “Because I believe that you deserve to know the truth.”_

_He hums noncommittally and doesn’t say anything else._

_You stare at him for a while before starting to fidget._

_“…I never meant to deceive you,” you quietly admit. “I suppose in the heat of the moment the situation simply escalated. I’m sorry.”_

_The expression on his face doesn’t change, but you can see the set of his shoulders subtly relax. You take that as a good sign._

_“…I hope you realize that this is not something I can easily forgive,” he says, frowning._

_“I know. I’m not asking you to.”_

_He nods, then looks away again._

_“Then I suppose there is nothing else to say.”_

_You blink, a bit surprised that it was_ that _easy, before breathing a sigh of relief._

_“Alright.”_

_Getting up, you look at him for a moment, before holding out your hand._

_“Goodbye, Gaster.”_

_He stares at your hand, then his gaze shifts to look at you, expression unreadable. Eventually he reaches out and takes your hand, giving it a firm shake._

_“Goodbye, my dear.”_

_You nod, smiling slightly, before letting go and turning around, walking out of the bar._

_Back at the table, Gaster steeples his fingers and carefully watches you leave, a plan already beginning to form in his mind._

  


\--

  


The last parcel you ever receive from your secret admirer is a bouquet made of yellow roses, yellow chrysanthemums, forsythias, daffodils and marigolds. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


End file.
